


Over Before it Begins

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [35]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you write a fic where Eggsy and Harry aren't together (maybe they haven't asked each other out yet or maybe one turned the other down) and Eggsy ends up in a real bad relationship with another spy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Before it Begins

Water stained red drips from his knuckles to the pavement below. His breath billows from his mouth, chest heaving as he sucks in air. He stands doubled over, the lenses of his glasses dotted with raindrops as cracked ribs cry out. He takes a step. Stumbles. Throws his hand out to grab on to something, but his fingernails only scratch against the brick wall of the alley as he lands heavily on his knees. Black blurs at the edges of his vision and he the last thing he sees is the pavement rising up to greet him. 

-

It should have been the best moment of his life. Instead it’s easily the most humiliating.

He doesn’t know why the fuck he thought he’d be interested in the first place.

Harry Hart is posh. Eggsy is, to put it politely, lower class. 

Harry Hart is refined and walks into rooms like he owns them. Eggsy hides himself under bulky sweatshirts and slouches to make himself less noticeable. 

Harry Hart is everything Eggsy wishes he could be and he has nothing to offer. 

So is it really any surprise when Harry returns his kiss with nothing more than a blank stare? 

‘Sorry’ isn’t enough, but it’s all he can get past the sudden tightness in his throat. 

He walks home without being aware of a single step he takes, turns the shower to burning, stands under it until his skin turns red. Opens his mouth. Screams. 

-

Riley’s a good man. Treats Eggsy right. Greets him with sugar sweet words and even sweeter kisses, licks into his mouth like Eggsy’s the only drink he’ll ever need. 

Eggsy presses himself closer even if he knows all he’s thinking of is Harry. Riley doesn’t need to know that. It’s only one night. He can give himself that. 

When the other patrons at the bar start side-eyeing them Eggsy tangles his fingers in the other man’s, pulls him out to the back alley. Tugs him in by his shirt and tries to forget why he’s been here before. This is _his_ choice. Not Dean’s, not tonight. 

Harry’s fault. It’s all Harry’s fault. The new marks on Eggsy’s neck, Harry’s fault. The tight soreness in every muscle, Harry’s fault. And the fact that he knows what Riley looks like when he first wakes up, that’s Harry’s fault too. 

‘It’s only one night’ turns into ‘It’s only two. Three. Four. Fuck.’

Riley changes with his thought pattern. The honeyed words crystallize, brittle now, sharp with jagged edges. Conversations become tests and Eggsy all too often fails. 

The feather-light touches Riley had used to explore him turn harder, pretend Eggsy’s marble, spiderwebs cracks into the statue. Eggsy stares at himself in the mirror, the sound of the shower in the background and tilts his head to one side. He thinks they’re a strange kind of beautiful. 

But however bad Riley is, he’s not as bad as Dean. He doesn’t make Eggsy sell, drugs or himself. He doesn’t touch his mum. He doesn’t touch Daisy. 

And he isn’t as bad as Harry. He doesn’t make Eggsy fall in love with him and leave him with a last-resort kiss that dead-ends. Riley loves him. 

“You love me,” Eggsy says once, doesn’t notice that it comes out as more of a question. 

Riley glances over, grins. Doesn’t say anything more. 

-

“You loved me,” Eggsy says once, doesn’t notice that it comes out in the past tense. 

“Never did,” Riley laughs. 

Eggsy could block the coming blow but he doesn’t want to. Pain makes it real. It gives him something to hold onto and he turns it into a lifeline. 

The clouds break above them, soak the two of them in minutes. No, Eggsy realizes. Not two. There’s a third person stepping out of the shadows, black hair shorn short, framing ice-blue eyes. 

The point of Riley’s shoe connects with Eggsy’s rib. They all hear the snap. 

“Now we don’t want him dead,” the woman remonstrates, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He needs to be able to tell us about Kingsman.” 

Eggsy’s eyes widen before he can stop them and he turns. Has to get away. Has to warn Harry. Should have worn his damn glasses. Everything screams in protest and he doubles over, struggling to catch his breath. He feels himself go light-headed, reaches vainly for a handhold but none presents themselves. Down he goes. 

-

When he comes to he’s in a situation he wishes wasn’t familiar. 

The concrete walls. The glaring lights. The ropes securing him to a chair (metal, not wood, no chance of breaking it and welded to the floor besides). 

Eggsy already aches and the real torture hasn’t even started.

 

 


End file.
